


A Honeymoon For Heroes

by Britpacker



Series: Life On Earth [1]
Category: Star Trek: Enterprise
Genre: Future Fic, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-10-08
Updated: 2011-11-09
Packaged: 2018-08-15 17:04:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 18,456
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8064826
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Britpacker/pseuds/Britpacker
Summary: Enterprise has come home.  For newlyweds Trip and Malcolm there's a honeymoon to enjoy - and a few announcements to be made.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Kylie Lee, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [Warp 5 Complex](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Warp_5_Complex), the software of which ceased to be maintained and created a security hazard. To make future maintenance and archive growth easier, I began importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in August 2016. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but I may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [Warp 5 Complex collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/Warp5Complex).
> 
>  **Author's notes:** Standard disclaimers and admissions of guilt - only the mistakes are my own!  
>  This stands alone well enough, but is really a prequel to my Life On Earth series

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's the last night on Enterprise; and the first night of married life for two of her highest-profile officers. There's just one awkward formality Malcolm has to attend to before he can think about enjoying it...

He paused at the interior cabin's open doorway, captivated by the low hum of that seductive voice. The occupant was pacing, his back to the entrance, head up and hands clasped: still in his dress uniform but with bare toes wriggling into the carpet, an oddly childish sight that dissolved what little was left of Commander Charles Tucker the Third's sentimental heart. 

Of course the wedding had only happened four hours ago and if a guy wasn't allowed to get mushy at the sight of his husband's cute bare feet that early into married life, Trip figured the universe stank.

He leaned against the door frame, his loving scrutiny moving upward from the unexpectedly delicate feet past slim, well-muscled legs to the firm curve of Malcolm Reed's shapely ass and the trim waist highlighted by the cut of his formal clothes. Admiring the straight back and the surprisingly broad shoulders, he barely registered the significance of the man's quiet words.

"You'll be aware of course that Enterprise is decommissioned tomorrow. I dare say you may have seen the official announcement of promotions and new assignments for her senior staff. There is one further announcement, however, which Starfleet Command has agreed to withhold until the furore our return to Earth will inevitably create has begun to die down. 

"I married my partner of almost seven years today. I realise you probably had no idea that I even _had_ a partner, and I can't imagine how great the shock of what I am about to say will be to you both. My husband's name is Charles Tucker the Third, and he is Enterprise's Chief Engineer."

The ridiculous thrill that raced down the said Charles Tucker the Third's spine was stopped dead by his spouse's next words. "Oh, fuck! Computer, delete the last two sentences."

The shrill tweet of the machine obeying instruction covered the soft tread of his step over the threshold - the same one he'd insisted on carrying his mock-protesting beloved over two hours before, Trip mused, the memory tainted now by the despair he saw slumping the man's strong shoulders. "Malcolm? This a bad time?"

"For you? There's never a bad time." As he swung around any trace of tension washed from the Englishman's face, leaving behind a radiance that took his husband's breath away. "The Captain finally happy with his speech?"

"No, but I told 'im: Jon, I'm a married man now. Gotta get home to that sexy lil' husband of mine. And have I ever told you, you're gorgeous when you blush?"

"You may have mentioned it once or twice." And every compliment made him flush deeper, Reed conceded as he burrowed into the security of his partner's embrace. "I'm sorry I didn't hear you come in. I've been trying..."

He waved a hand to the letter glowing bright on his monitor. "I started work on it waiting for Travis to fetch me before the service, but somehow I can't find the right way to tell them."

"A way that won't shock your daddy into cardiac arrest, you mean?" Trip softened the question with a kiss against Malcolm's glossy dark crown. The younger man snorted.

"I'm not sure which he'll take worse- your being a man, I mean, or a rank above me," he confessed, giving the inoffensive screen a filthy glance. "I've tried versions expressing my happiness before I throw in your name, ones that completely ignore your sex, then one that skated over the whole status thing, and none of them sound right. It was so much easier for you."

"Hey Mom and Dad start plannin' that party, 'cause Mal and I get married in the morning." It was the edited version, but not by much, and of course his parents had responded with an immediate deluge of congratulation and good wishes he still hadn't finished reading. "Guess it helped they've known about us from the start."

" _Guess it helped_ they wouldn't have a dickie fit because their son's chosen to live by his own set of rules," Malcolm retorted, dropping from his excellent Trip Tucker drawl to his naturally more clipped self halfway through. "Hello, Mum and Dad, just thought you should know your only son has married a man who outranks him, hope you're both well! How _does_ one drop a bombshell like that, if not from a bloody great height?"

"By tellin' it like it is." Meeting the in-laws couldn't be put off long enough in Trip's book: he wasn't sure he could handle being civil to the unfeeling individuals who had blighted his beloved's life with their endless lists of pointless rules. "Don't wanna shock you folks, but this is me, and this is what makes me happy. I do make you happy, right?"

"Blissfully. Computer, resume recording."

The stern set of his sharp features looked anything but blissful, but as his husband wriggled free Trip acknowledged he knew the man way too well to take offence. This had to be done, and until it was, the honeymoon was officially on hold.

_Damn it!_

Malcolm sucked in a deep breath, waved his companion to the edge of the bunk, and focussed his attention on the glinting blue screen.

"I can only imagine what a shock this will be to you; and I apologise. I ought to have informed you long ago. I _have_ sometimes wondered whether Mum at least might have guessed, because you see I'm bisexual, and this morning I married a wonderful man who makes me happier than I ever thought possible. His name is Charles Tucker the Third, but everyone knows him as Trip."

As if he was magnetised he swivelled away from his desk, locking his gaze onto Tucker's bedazzled smile. Strength surged through him and he couldn't help beaming back.

"We've been together for almost seven years and as we're both taking up positions within Starfleet R&D this felt like the right moment to formalise our commitment to each other. He's an extraordinary man - our Chief Engineer and yes, a full Commander, of superior rank to myself. I can assure you that our personal connection has never for a moment impinged upon our professional one: in fact, in the opinion of both Captain Archer and Commander T'Pol, it's rather improved what has been, at times, a fairly combustible working relationship.

"You'll find attached some photographs from the ceremony, and I think you will see from them how happy our friends and colleagues are for us. Trip's family are planning a _welcome-home_ party at their place in Mississippi in three weeks' time, and they've asked me to say that you are both extremely welcome should you wish to come along. Trip, I should add, has been far braver than I: his sexuality has never been a secret, intentional or otherwise, from his relations. Their welcome to me couldn't have been kinder, and I'm looking forward to having the chance to thank them in person.

"Again, I apologise for springing this news on you. I ought to have told you long ago that I have found a person I can love unconditionally, and who for whatever incomprehensible reason of his own, feels the same way about me."

"Incomprehensible!" Trip mouthed back at him, eyes rolling. Malcolm grinned, but refused to be distracted.

_Really gotta do something about that. Aren't we supposed to be enjoying our wedding night around now?_

"Above all, I hope you can find it in your hearts to rejoice in the knowledge that, however far from the path you envisaged his life has led him, it has brought such inexpressible happiness to your son,

Malcolm."

Silence possessed the small room for a few moments before Reed released the breath he had been holding. "Computer, end. That okay, d' you think?"

" _Okay?_ " Emotion thickened his accent - and his limbs Trip realised as he staggered, giddy with the rush of adoration that swamped him. "Darlin' to hear you say that about me... I don't deserve you, Malcolm Andrew Reed, you know that? And you make me the happiest sonofabitch that ever breathed! Now c' mere and lemme show y' that, alright?"

Gooseflesh broke out, Malcolm considered, on his existing gooseflesh at the sexy smile his spouse flashed with those words. "We're not on duty 'til late morning, are we?" he asked, the sudden dryness of his throat making him husky. 

"Just in time for landing." Somehow he was on his feet, though Tucker didn't remember moving. Nimble fingers were working beneath the white turtleneck of his dress outfit, their tips feathering his sensitive skin. He swayed closer and a heavy bulge brushed ever-so-briefly against his responsive groin. 

Which moaned louder? It didn't matter. On this of all nights, Trip didn't care if their orgiastic howls kept the entire crew from its sleep.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Our heroes are home. Pity there's a whole quadrant watching them!

The letter was sent before breakfast: before, Tucker considered, the writer could have his fifteenth panic attack in twenty-four hours and delete it along with all the others. By the time Enterprise was hovering over San Francisco in full view of an entire quadrant's media the newlyweds were at their bridge stations, the model of Starfleet professionalism. Hoshi Sato, remembering the uproarious scenes at the end of the reception when they'd stumbled out of the mess hall in a lip-lock so intense she'd suspected Travis of playing pranks with the superglue again, could only shake her head and wonder at their composure, certain she could never have matched it.

She had to turn away to hide her smile, however, when they marched off the ship behind Captain Archer, both men keeping their ring-adorned hands firmly clasped behind their backs. The way they fidgeted through the soon-to-be admiral's oration in the circular conference chamber ten minutes later would have been just as amusing, if she hadn't been struggling to sit still herself.

"Thank God they stuck us up here where nobody can see us," Malcolm growled as he wriggled his buttocks into the slim foam pad that counted as cushions in what they had been told were the VIP seats. Trip, leaning sideways into his personal space on the pretext of allowing Travis's broad shoulders more room on the crowded gantry, snickered.

"Johnny probably suggested hidin' us up in the gods so the cameras wouldn't catch me mouthin' every goddamn word," he grumbled. "It's gonna be the bit about us when he gets to the end of this section - Doctor Cochrane's vision segues into the brightest and best of humanity and how the critical component of all exploration is the heart of the individual..."

"Commander, you gave up an hour of your wedding night to listen to this?" 

"Cap'n's been worrying about this speech for months, Phlox. Me and Malcolm couldn't leave him stewing..."

"Human friendships are astonishing things," the Denobulan murmured, eying them both with that particular twinkle Malcolm had learned to dread - exactly the same one that showed whenever the good doctor was presented with an especially interesting new virus. "To forego an hour of sexual activity - which I understand is considered a particularly valuable form of bonding at these times - to endure the endless repetition of a few clichéd sentiments... what loyalty!"

"I'm sure the Captain will be delighted to hear you rate his speech so highly, Doctor," Reed remarked drily. Travis jerked so violently Hoshi's hand shot out to stop him lurching right over their balcony. 

"His sentiments may appear mundane Doctor, but they're quite appropriate - even logical for such an occasion." 

The humans surrounding her relaxed imperceptibly. "He'll appreciate that, T'Pol," Tucker informed the Vulcan seriously. "He didn't want to be accused of getting carried away, or soundin' like a politician."

Their boomer snorted again at the thought of his straightforward captain in that role. "He doesn't smile enough for that, Commander. And he obviously means what he's saying."

"What's even odder: he believes it." Trip's shoulder was behind his, gently supporting him, and the warmth it spread throughout his body kept a smile on Malcolm's face for the remainder of his captain's oration. If only, he thought, they could stand that close through the supposedly more private ceremony to promote Enterprise's officers which would follow.

"Private," he growled, unaware of the anticipation his low voice sent skittering through his attentive husband. "Means there's only one bloody planet watching instead of half a dozen! Hmmpff"

A large hand worked its way under the balcony rail to rest comfortably on his knee. "Maddie'll be real proud," rippled against his ear. "Almost as proud as Johnny! You hear that? I told him the sentiment was too much, about being a proud daddy seein' his kids fly the nest, but he insisted, that's how he feels about his crew."

"He's going to have one hell of a long Christmas present list in future, then." While Travis pretended to gag and Hoshi cooed, Malcolm remained serenely cynical. Trip had realised he was a hopeless case when that certainty had first warmed the cockles of his sentimental heart.

Cautiously, keeping the movement hidden, he slipped his arm fully around his husband's straight back, exhaling through his gritted teeth when the brunet shuffled to relax against it. T'Pol's eyebrow might lift; Hoshi might sigh and simper. As long as Malcolm was happy, Trip didn't care. Jon's voice faded to a distant lullaby as he closed his eyes and let himself bathe in the memory of the last magical night. 

Because if that was what Mal dismissed as just a pre-honeymoon party, he couldn't wait for the real event to begin.

*

Those thoughts which helped him through the tedium of Jon's official speech, Trip discovered, became a positive hindrance once the senior officers had been reunited with the rest of Enterprise's crew in the conference hall of Starfleet Headquarters itself. Lined up on stage in full view of the world's press, he reasoned, he was bound to feel exposed: standing there willing what was left of his Malcolm-induced hard-on to deflate before anyone drew attention from the soon-to-be Admiral Archer to his Chief Engineer was about as comfortable as facing the old Vulcan High Command.

Naked. Except for a strategically-placed pineapple.

_Now there's a look that'd really suit Mal!_

The air left his lungs in a violent hiss. And that wayward mind of his _really_ wasn't helping.

"Admirals; honoured guests; ladies and gentlemen." Archer's voice pulled him abruptly to his senses, tinged as it was with a hesitancy that tugged Trip's heart. "I'm deeply flattered by the honour you've awarded me. I can only repeat my words to you all the day Enterprise was commissioned, ten years ago. I will do my utmost to be worthy of your trust.

"If I have been so in the last decade, it's largely due to this group of outstanding individuals around me - the senior staff and crew of your first Warp Five ship, Starfleet's brightest and best. Enterprise became more than a ship. She was home, and so it's not surprising that her crew should have become more than another group of consummate professionals. It's become a family. So I'd like to thank you again for allowing me to make it my first duty as an admiral to reward these remarkable people in turn."

Every crewman, Trip noted with satisfaction, had been raised a full grade, and he beamed with easily perceptible pride to see his finest subordinates, Rostov and Kelly, awarded their ensign's pips at last. When the second shiny insignia was finally pinned to Travis Mayweather and Hoshi Sato's uniforms, he clapped so hard his palms began to burn.

Then he stopped breathing altogether. 

"Lieutenant Commander Malcolm Reed. By the authorisation of Starfleet Command I hereby promote you to the rank of full commander, with all the duties and privileges that entails. Congratulations, Commander."

"Thank you, Sir." Reed's voice carried pin-sharp across the enormous room as he shook his ex-C.O.'s hand, deliberately not glancing down at the shiny closed ornament that replaced a twist of silver wire marking his previous rank. Jonathan Archer's kindly green eyes twinkled at him, and the smile on the man's face held something that made his stomach turn over.

Pride. Unmistakable, paternal pride. 

Archer gave his hand a final squeeze, a subtle signal that even a dazed Malcolm Reed could understand and he backed away, his mind spinning. Jonathan Archer was proud of him. 

The image of his parents sitting side by side on the couch in their spartan lounge, hands folded in their laps and lips pursed, blurred at the edges. Which did he care for most - Captain Reed's obstinate disapproval or Admiral Archer's unabashed delight?

It was no contest. A father-figure, after all, could surely make up for the absence of an actual father.

He caught Trip's eye and the last vestiges of ancient sorrow fell away, like the crumbling of an old scab over his heart. Home and family, Archer said of Enterprise and her crew. Strange words for much of his life which at last had some resonance for Malcolm Reed.

As he shuffled back into line he felt Trip's knuckles brush his, and raised his face to smile brilliantly at the older man. "Equal ranks," he mouthed. 

The tip of Trip's tongue flicked out at him in the last nanosecond before his name was called out and he stepped forward to restore the disparity Malcolm considered only natural between them.

Their hands brushed again as the Southerner retook his position behind Archer's shoulder, watching with barely-veiled amusement as Starfleet appointed its first non-human captain. T'Pol accepted the honour with an elegant inclination of her glossy chestnut head and stepped back to her place without uttering a word. 

"You'd think she'd look a little happier about it."

"Happiness is an emotional response. It would not be logical in this situation."

"Jeez Malcolm, you know it creeps me out when you start talkin' like her!"

"Sorry." A storm of applause broke out over Admiral Archer's closing remarks and instantly a pair of toy soldier cadets emerged from the wings to usher the newly-promoted crew from the stage. "Oi! Lieutenant Mayweather! Where are you scuttling to?"

"Heading for the buffet, Commander Reed." Having been generally addressed that way for the past five years, Reed acknowledged, his upgrade in rank didn't have quite the resonance of the younger man's, his grin flashing bright as he emerged from his old ally's hug. 

"Captain T'Pol." he said calmly. "Congratulations."

"Thank you." The faintest tilt of an eyebrow indicated her thanks for his resolute refusal to offer the kind of celebratory bear-hug too many of their colleagues considered appropriate. "Although the honour is meaningless. I intend to resign from Starfleet at the end of my enforced _vacation_."

"As Surak said: no honour that has meaning to the giver should be dismissed by its recipient."

Lieutenant Mayweather gawped. Captain Tucker's stifled guffaw rolled like distant thunder. And the Vulcan treated them to the merest beginnings of a smile.

"The point is well made, Commander," she said mildly, a slight shoulder-turn enough to deflect the breaking wave of four-star officers around their group. "And as he also observed: the greatest benefits to civilisation come from those whose minds are opened beyond the narrow boundaries of their ancestors' well-worn path."

They were, Tucker realised for the first time, an oddly well matched pair: his former lover and the only one who would ever succeed her. The same uncanny stillness, softened in Malcolm by the emotional emancipation of humanity; and the same diffidence when it came to accepting honour, in whatever form and however well deserved. 

"C'mon, we're going into the reception now." The end of the public formalities had lifted a visible weight from the new admiral's shoulders as he engulfed Starfleet's two newest captains in a big bear-hug. "Trip, Malcolm - I know you're keen to get away, but the admirals expect you to stick around for a drink, okay?"


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Formalities. There's a reason (or several) Malcolm doesn't like them.

"Captain. Commander. Congratulations on your promotions." Stiff fingers clenched around Tucker's then Reed's in turn as Admiral Leonard did his uncomfortably official _mingle_ around the refreshment room, Admirals Kelly, Hawkes and Laurence huffing in his wake "And Doctor Phlox - I can't tell you how pleased we are that you've agreed to remain at Starfleet Medical for another year."!

"I was delighted to be given the opportunity to stay, Admiral." Unbidden the exuberant physician thrust out his hand, pumping the unresponsive limbs offered with undiminished enthusiasm despite the strange looks he earned. "Serving on Enterprise has been a privilege, but I'm afraid I might be a little out of touch with the most recent advances in the field..."

"You're personally responsible for several of the more promising developments, Doctor." Burly Admiral Laurence clouted him on the shoulder so hard the Denobulan staggered, his balance only restored by contact with Malcolm's outstretched arm. "Enterprise has been a fortunate ship to have you."

"She sure has." It was rare to see Phlox blush, a faint coppery tinge climbing along his facial ridges. Trip smiled kindly at the flustered alien. "I gotta say though, Doc, I figured you'd be spending your leave on Denobula, catchin' up with all those wives of yours!"

"Their co-husbands keep them fully occupied in my absence, Commander - forgive me, I should say _Captain_ , of course. I'm quite looking forward to a few weeks' exploring Earth more fully. Maybe I'll even drop by - did you say _Pertisau_ , Commander Reed?"

Even Malcolm, to his husband's secret relief, couldn't maintain his stoicism in the face of so dire a threat. "Only joking!" the Denobulan trilled between explosive guffaws that turned the attention of the whole room their way. The best either man could manage was a weak smile in return.

Which was more than the nabobs achieved, Malcolm noted. Leonard's naturally wan complexion flamed, while ancient Hawkes paled to the colour of cracking parchment. The most senior officer present cleared his throat. 

"Yes, indeed, our congratulations on your marriage, gentleman," he stuttered, at least managing to hold still while he colleagues shuffled and stared at the floor like a bunch of guilty cadets. "I - ahem! - Admiral Archer informs me you're happy for an announcement to be inserted into the weekly media bulletin when the immediate excitement of Enterprise's return has died down."

"I'm not sure _happy_ is the correct adjective, sir, but we have no intention of keeping our relationship secret." Ambassador Soval couldn't freeze a room faster than a censorious Malcolm Reed: and Trip had seen him try. "If you could delay publication for a fortnight we'll be tucked away in the Alps, and by the time we return to work one might hope any interest will have died down."

"I think you under-estimate the global fascination with Enterprise, Commander, but we can hope." Stained teeth popped out to worry at Leonard's lower lip. "But you've reminded me. Commander Williams! You have an envelope for Commander Reed."

"Yes, Sir." Malcolm's brow creased as he regarded the salt-and-pepper full commander who hovered three paces away from the senior party, his sleep-deprived brain sluggish in producing the necessary identification. Forrest's bag-carrier. The man who survived the Vulcan bombing. 

He'd aged fifteen years in the last six, and not been promoted. _Doesn't say much for him - or Leonard's management style!_

"I'm afraid it's addressed by your previous rank, Commander," the man announced with a friendly grin as he presented a small padded bag that jangled noisily. Malcolm shrugged.

"I'm surprised she bothered with the title at all. It's from my grandmother."

"The keys?" Trip loomed over his shoulder, visibly amused to see a set of old-fashioned metal tags drop into his husband's palm. Admiral Kelly's whistle hissed between the gaps in his teeth. 

"I didn't think anyone used those any more," he marvelled, stretching out on instinct to caress the odd shapes. "May I..."

"Reed men are old-fashioned," Tucker announced with a winning smile. Malcolm's eyes narrowed.

"The term we prefer is _traditional_ , Captain, and I'll thank you to remember it," he rapped back, helpless to maintain severity under that glorious, dimpling grin. "My grandfather didn't trust _these new-fangled computerised code thingies_ as he always called them. There's nothing makes one feel safer than a solid chunk of metal and a proper latch, apparently."

"You get used t' the Reed way of doing things." He probably looked like a besotted fool. Trip didn't care. 

"We have a pilot standing by to take you to the co-ordinates you requested, Commander, and he'll meet you again in three weeks to transfer you to Mississippi." Williams' s dark eyes were warm with approval, which touched him more than Malcolm cared to admit. "Getting back to San Fran, you're on your own, but we can arrange public flights if you give us a return date."

"We're only staying with my folks a week; then we've gotta start house hunting." The prospect always made Malcolm groan yet filled Trip with a heady sense of anticipation. "C'mon, it'll be fun! You and me arguin' every little point - it'll be just like old times!"

"When we thought of pushing each other out of airlocks on a regular basis?" Malcolm questioned sweetly. 

Beneath the belly-laughs of Williams and Phlox, the nervous tittering of the admirals barely registered. "Lucky we got over that," Trip murmured, his body swaying of its own volition into his partner's personal space. 

It had been a long time since he'd hit the invisible force field Malcolm Reed's steel stare could project, but it hadn't lost its efficiency and he rocked right back out of range. "We've got an apartment on site until we're ready to move on, Cap - Admiral Archer said?"

"Due to maintenance in one of the housing blocks, all Enterprise personnel except Admiral Archer and Captain T'Pol have been required to double up." Kelly was good, the Southerner admitted. He said it with a straight face while Leonard huffed and Williams openly smirked. Malcolm grunted.

"I imagine you'll be inundated with requests to return to ship's quarters, Admiral."

"It's a temporary measure, until the refurbishments are complete." They held each other's eyes steadily: a challenge Trip wasn't surprised to see the more senior man duck first. "But it might encourage people to find permanent accommodation more quickly."

"And I trust you'll find a suitably sized bedroom, gentlemen," Phlox cut in.

"Sorry?" 

"My wedding present, Commander." Instantly Malcolm knew that polite query was going straight to the top of the chart of _Questions A Reed Ought Never Ask_. Phlox's grin stretched right around his jawline. "A Denobulan Marriage Bed - my wives and their co-husbands have sent a section each for re-assembly when you have room. Don't worry, it's rather a _discreet_ object, not like the Tarkelian equivalent with its fertility symbols on the headboard, but it _is_ large. You know how often I've expressed my concern for your circulatory systems: Starfleet bunks weren't designed to accommodate two adult males - even slightly built ones with a tendency to skip meals, Mister Reed - in an ergonomically recommended position!"

"Uh, thanks Doc, that's um - yeah, really kind of you." With his spouse rendered speechless, transfixed by the volcanic intensity of the blush erupting out of his boots, Trip stuttered the least incriminating polite response he could muster, acutely aware of the pained stillness that had descended in the wake of the Doctor's too-jolly complaint. "We'll uh, we'll bear that in mind, won't we, Mal?"

"Hm? Oh, yes - quite. Really Doctor, we didn't expect anyone to go to any trouble..."

Belatedly he recognised it as the worst thing he could possibly have said to an oblivious twerp of a Denobulan in full _patronising physician_ mode. "No trouble at all, Commander; after all the lectures I was compelled to give on Enterprise - Captain Archer can confirm how anxious I was that your long-term health might be compromised by your sleeping habits..."

"We're both good, Doc; your last physical showed there'd been no harm done." Hawkes looked like the Ghost of Christmas Present, and Laurence's head would surely explode if any more blood reached his empurpled cheeks. "Uh, you mind if we get outta here now, Admirals? We need to change, and we don't wanna keep the pilot waiting..."

"Williams, show the Captain and the Commander to their apartment." Kelly looked almost compassionate; Leonard relieved to grasp the escape he was being offered. 

He couldn't, Trip figured, be as grateful as his subordinates.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The formalities are completed (for the time being). Now the boys can plan their getaway...

It took ten minutes and countless bear-hugs to get them out of the reception room and by the time they emerged into the golden warmth of mid-afternoon Malcolm looked more traumatised than he'd been by a Suliban beating. Smoothing his disordered hair with quick, unusually awkward movements he dropped into his partner's lee, visibly cringing from the stares of the few unoccupied personnel they passed. "God, I need this holiday!"

"You and me both." Aware of Williams's veiled scrutiny, Trip stopped the customary endearment on his tongue until they were inside a ulitarian apartment that took a standard Starfleet ship's cabin and upscaled it by fifteen percent. "Jeez darlin', that was rough!"

"Mmmm." Uninvited but certain of his welcome Reed snuggled close, laying his spinning head on his husband's shoulder as strong arms encircled him. "I'm not sure which of us was more embarrassed when Leonard decided to do the _proper_ thing and mention our unmentionables."

"And I thought Hawkes was gonna faint when Phlox started up about our circulatory systems." In retrospect Trip could snicker, but he knew his man well enough to understand the humiliation was far too recent for Malcolm's sense of humour to bear. "Gimme a kiss, babe. We don't need to worry about packing. All the honeymoon stuff's in our rucksacks, right?" 

"We can't keep this pilot waiting, love," Malcolm protested, right before his lips were claimed and everything but the taste of his precious husband disappeared from his head. 

Minutes ticked by unnoticed as gentle hands roamed and tongues duelled, breath growing hot and heavy as the two men stroked away the stresses of the day. Tenderly Trip carded his fingers through the younger man's glossy hair, drinking down the soft protesting murmur the gesture elicited. "Wanna freshen up b'fore we go?" he murmured, sure he was about to drown in the sleepy-eyed look of adoration that graced his husband's sharply-angled features. Malcolm smiled.

"We've time for a quick change, Captain Tucker - no monkey business," he said with mock sternness. 

"Aw, Mal, we're on honeymoon, there's gotta be time for that!" Trip wailed, making a theatrical grab as the brunet ducked away, jumpsuit top already undone. He licked his lips, petrified with desire as it was peeled down and the white turtleneck below wrenched off to reveal the perfectly-sculpted pale chest of his lover: pale, he noted, but for a livid red blotch at the base of the throat.

His cock jumped at the memory of putting that brand onto Malcolm's pearly skin last night. "Mal? Wear something that buttons right up, alright?"

"Bugger." Reed considered the offending memento with the beginnings of a smile, stretching into his opened bag for a button-down white shirt. "Come on, slowcoach! The sooner we're in Pertisau, the sooner you can get down to the business of ravishing me uninterrupted, and that _is_ why your trousers are at bursting-point, isn't it?"

"Dammit, Malcolm!" As his penis pulsed and his balls grew tight Trip forced himself to turn from temptation, giving himself a consolatory squeeze while reaching for his travelling clothes. "Ain't never gonna let you outta this room if you keep tormenting me like that! Tell me what your Granny's letter says."

By the length of time it took him to respond, Trip figured he wasn't the only one struggling for composure. "See for yourself," Malcolm invited, waving a single page covered in a fine, sloping black hand at him. "You'll like Gran: she's not what you'd call a conventional Reed wife, even if she does write old-fashioned letters with paper and ink."

With a grin Trip flung himself onto the living room's single unsprung couch, cleared his throat and read out loud.

_"My very dear Milky,_

"Milky? What in hell is _that_ about?"

"Blame Mads." Still buttoning his fly Reed shuffled to loll beside him, and it still astounded Trip that his lover's head would land so naturally against his shoulder. "When she was little she couldn't say Malcolm. Milky was the nearest she could get, and Gran's never forgotten it."

"That's so sweet!"

Malcolm punched his arm. "Sorry, sorry. _That's_ sweet. I wasn't saying _you_ are."

The abused bicep was treated to a placatory kiss. "Even though you are."

"Cretin. Keep reading."

"You've read it once."

"Yes, but I like listening to you."

"Sweet," Trip mouthed against his hair before continuing in a soft, sing-song voice.

_"Herein, as requested, are the keys to the chalet and tickets for both the Jenbach train and the ferry from Seespitz. I realise Tyrol isn't the centre of Starfleet's universe my darling, but even a cave-dwelling troglodyte would be aware of Enterprise's imminent return. You may find your remarkably handsome husband_ (Malcolm, you just like makin' me blush, right?) _and yourself attract more interest than you anticipate._

_"I've asked Frau Becker to ensure the kitchen is well-stocked and the furniture dusted, but as she remembers you as a hyperactive little boy forever chasing your poor sister through the pinewoods and pretending to shoot the locals with a twig-disruptor, I doubt you'll be unduly disturbed._

_"I shall be glad to think of the old house being used by young couple in love again; it hardly seems sensible to retain it now as I can't imagine going there without your grandfather, but I know how much Madeleine and yourself love it and the holiday lets do bring a very useful additional income. I hope Commander Tucker - will he be offended if I call him Trip, by the way? He sounds to be the right kind of partner for a Reed man if your sister has done him justice, unlikely to conform to conventional family requirements - will love it too. It deserves to be a happy home, even if it can only be for a few weeks at a time._

_"Have a wonderful time, Milky my darling, and may your honeymoon be the start of a long and fulfilling marriage for you both. I look forward to meeting my grandson-in-law very soon._

_Always your very loving,_

_Gran."_

The slight figure at his side shifted and when he glanced down Trip was amazed to see tears silvering his partner's ever-changing eyes. "She doesn't care I've married a man," Malcolm whispered, bringing up a shaky finger to trace the firm line of Trip's jaw. "I hoped she'd want to meet you, but - well, with the Reeds one can never be sure."

"Tell me about it." Careful not to startle his man with sudden movement, Trip shifted his arm to lay along the couch's back. "She sounds cool."

"She is." Just as suddenly as it had arrived, Malcolm's emotional lapse passed and he sat up, absently scrubbing a hand across his face. "Ready to go?"

"If you are." Aware a display of sympathy would be unappreciated, if not actually dangerous, Trip hauled himself upright and offered a helping hand to the smaller man. "Sooner we get there, the sooner I can get you naked, you said?"

"Promise."

With a mournful shake of the head that made his hair stand on end, Trip snatched up their overloaded rucksacks and shooed him toward the door. "Starfleet's gotta work on faster shuttles! You got the keys?"

Malcolm patted his jeans pocket. "And the tickets. I'm glad Gran thought of that, or we'd be queuing up at the station for ages! After you, Captain, Sir."

*

A single shuttlepod stood isolated in the middle of the launch area, a dark-skinned officer leaning against its glistening hull, ostentatiously checking his watch as they approached. "I was starting to think you'd gotten too comfortable in that apartment!" he called, his usual grin widening at the twin expressions of shock on their faces.

"Travis, what the hell..."

"We figured you'd prefer a chauffeur who was fully briefed on the circumstances of the mission," Mayweather announced, tone a serious contrast to his gleeful expression. "Throw the bags in the back, Malcolm. The co-ordinates are set and we've got priority launch clearance. Just remember - no makin' out in the back of my cab. I just had my lunch, and anyway, you got any idea how much it costs to valet one of these babies?"

"Travis?"

"Yeah?"

As they strapped in side by side behind the pilot's seat, Trip leaned over to give the unsuspecting boomer a comradely cuff. "Shut up and drive, okay? I'm in a hurry here."

With a chuckle their pilot fired up the engines and within moments they were clear of the compound. Trip unsnapped his safety harness and gave his husband's arm a tug, a quizzical expression crossing his level features. With a coy dip of the lashes Malcolm allowed himself to be steered across until the two men were squeezed into a single tight seat, their arms wrapped around each other as much from necessity as affection. With the warmth of his husband's body seeping through him and the soothing, woodsy scent of his cologne in his nostrils, Trip turned contentedly to peer through the small porthole in the pod's side, his mind for once tranquilly free of anything but the quiet satisfaction of the moment.

A soft hum escaped his partner's parted lips and the Southerner shifted to peer down, the warmth that suffused him redoubled by the sweet sight of Malcolm Reed fast asleep, dark head sliding from its usual cushion on Tucker's shoulder to rest against his breast 

The breath trapped in Trip's throat as he stared, his sentimental heart swelling to fill his tight chest with the immensity of his love for the man nuzzled so trustingly into his side. Carefully he half-turned to brush a kiss through the sable hair, letting his cheek rest against its softness as his eyes drifted shut and a sweet wave of lassitude sluiced up from his toes. Last night had been hectic even by their standards. Neither of them had gotten much sleep. Maybe Malcolm had the right idea.

By the time Travis glanced around from the controls, surprised by the absence of bickering from the back, both his passengers were sound asleep.

Shaking his head, he slipped the small pocket camera he'd been instructed to carry from his pocket and took two quick snaps. Hoshi would be a gurgling puddle of bliss for a week when she got a look at those.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The honeymoon can really begin...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The boys' destination is one of my absolute favourite places in one of the world's loveliest countries. Justification of the rating starts here!

"This way." While Trip lingered, shielding his eyes from the late afternoon sun to watch their shuttlepod surge through the stratosphere, Malcolm tugged impatiently at his other hand, practically dancing with excitement. "We'll make the four o'clock train if you don't dawdle, and if you think the scenery here's good - just wait 'til we reach Seespitz!"

As if, Tucker considered, he'd give the rugged splendour of the Tyrolean Alps a second glance with a beaming, breeze-ruffled Malcolm Reed clutching his hand. He shouldered his rucksack and gave the smaller man an absent-minded smile, allowing himself to be bustled through the picturesque old town nestled in the alpine foothills toward a compact railway station bedecked with flowers and the red-white-red Austrian banner. "Cool place," he announced as they bypassed the ticket booth, Malcolm amiably waving Gran Reed's slips of paper the vendor's way. "Whoa! _That's_ the train?"

"Problem?" Gleaming claret with gilded detailing on its immaculate carriages, the ancient Achenseebahn steam train huffed noisily at the platform. Trip's snub nose wrinkled.

"What's the top speed of this thing? A metre a minute?"

"Shut up, get in, and remember: we're trying not to be noticed!"

Which was why, of course, Malcolm's companion was wearing a lime-green shirt patterned with scarlet fish. Large fish with grinning mouths and sunglasses. With a deep sigh, Reed clambered into an empty compartment and, facing forward, dropped his bag onto the seat at his side. "Sit opposite and look out of the window," he instructed, oblivious to the sparkle in his eyes that betrayed his amusement as his husband whined.

"But I wanted to sit next t' you! Why do I hafta sit over here?"

"Because, my darling, the view as we climb is too wonderful for you to miss. And because I like looking at you, which I can't do without straining my neck when we're side by side."

"Flattery'll get you everywhere, Mister Reed."

"Not until we're alone, Mistah Tuckah." The train jerked with the kind of violence Trip associated with a meteor strike and he rocked forward, his bag sliding to the floor. Malcolm, he noticed, had been braced against the carriage wall in readiness. 

_Figures._

The panorama across the broad green river valley to distant peaks tearing a crystal blue sky was, he admitted to himself, as stunning as Malcolm claimed, and as he adjusted to the rocking motion of the train, his body swaying against his seat's padded leather back, the journey took on a hypnotic quality starship travel definitely lacked. The sting of smoke - generated for effect and ecologically neutral - made his nostrils tickle but added to the archaic feeling of the journey, and the faint smile on his partner's face, viewed in profile as Malcolm gazed from the window, gave him a glow that negated altitude's increasing chill. "You love this place, don't you?"

"Mmmm." Reed turned, giving him the benefit of the whole dazzling smile. "Came here with Gran for summer holidays as a child. Granddad usually came for a couple of weeks, but Gran, Maddie and I would sometimes spend the whole summer here, especially if Dad was posted abroad. Grab your bag, we're levelling off. _Gruss Gott!_ "

His chirruped greeting was answered in kind at the platform as the train squealed to a shuddering stop. "What's that mean?" Trip breathed against his ear, delighted by the brunet's slight shiver. 

"God's greeting: it's nicer than the standard _guten morgen_ , and used more often around here." Efficient as if he were on Enterprise, Malcolm guided him through the bustle of their fellow passengers, out of the station and across the street. "Well - what do you think?"

"Oh, wow!"

"Beautiful, isn't it?"

Spread before them the Achensee glittered flawless as a sapphire under a cloudless sky: a narrow stretch of water curving away like a runner bean that rippled between serrated granite peaks, some of them crowned year-round with pristine snow. Scattered along the shore were small villages, their cosy houses with overhanging eaves all adorned with flower-decked balconies and, judging by the ones behind them, painted with subtle frescoes drawn from nature. The opulent onion domes of small churches soared in the heart of each hamlet, a focal point, he could see at any distance, to the clustered communities. Nodding, Trip jerked a thumb toward a modest white-painted vessel, the name _Prinz Karl_ stencilled on the bow, moored at the water's edge. "That's next?"

"It's still the nicest way to reach the villages around the lake, even if it's not the quickest." The necessity of keeping a low profile hadn't been his sole reason for dismissing Archer's offer to have them flown right to the chalet's door, Malcolm conceded. The antique charm of this particular journey had always stirred him, and the prospect of sharing it with Trip was too delicious to ignore. "Shall we go up top?"

"If you're happy... I mean, didn't you say the water's pretty deep?"

"I can't fall in and drown if you're holding me." Giving up their tickets, the brunet hustled them up onto the top deck, heading straight for the bow and leaning forward onto the brass rail. Taking station at his back, Tucker wound his arms around his husband's narrow waist and dropped his chin onto the younger man's shoulder, contentment washing through him like a ripple over the lake's surface. 

"Like this?"

"Just like that." Butting his backside into his taller partner's crotch Malcolm relaxed into the undemanding embrace, watching the reflected mountains waver as the boat moved noiselessly from the wharf. When he had first suggested Gran's place as the perfect honeymoon hideaway he had envisaged this moment, and now it was here, he intended to savour it to the fullest. 

The crossing to Pertisau, tucked away on the quieter western side of the lake, couldn't take long enough.

*

"I thought you said folks'd ignore us," Trip muttered savagely after his fifteenth attempt at the local greeting since stumbling off the boat ten minutes before. Malcolm shrugged.

"People still acknowledge strangers here, bizarre as it may seem. _Gruss Gott!_ "

The elderly woman striding in the opposite direction, toward the village with a shopping bag over each arm, returned his words with a smile that widened at Trip's tentative echo. "We got much further to go?"

"Around the corner and past these chalets - that one's a hotel now, used to be another farm when I was a child - and out across the fields. Don't mind the cows - these brown ones are friendly fellows. See that little house on its own, right back against the trees? That's it."

The village straggled further than Trip had imagined from Malcolm's energetic description of a quaint hamlet, but from the elegant waterfront with its shops, cafes and hotels back it became more peaceful, petering out into a scatter of farmsteads and chalets standing alone in flower-spangled meadows where caramel-and-cream cattle placidly grazed. 

The building Reed pointed out stood surrounded by a bright, well-planted garden, a subtle fresco of roses and clover painted on its cream walls. Behind it thick pinewoods clung like a dark velvet skirt to the mountain's lower slope, small breaks in the cover hinting at the hiking trails his husband was determined to explore. Bright geraniums tumbled over the upper balcony and wooden shutters, faded green and in need of a fresh coat of paint, stood open on either side of every window. "Nice," he approved.

"Cosy."

"Isolated."

"Hmmm Speed up a bit?"

They were sprinting by the time they reached the front door, the key slipping in Malcolm's sweaty palm. Before it was properly shut behind them they were in each other's arms, mouths melding in a desperate, delirious kiss. "Been wantin' that all day," Trip moaned, scrabbling at shirt buttons without caring if they were his husband's or his own. One popped off his chest. "You do that?"

"This thing is ghastly." Bare chests connected and the inferno in the Englishman's groin flared to possess him completely. Wild with need he assaulted his lover's waistband, grinding himself against the welcoming hardness concealed beneath velvety-soft denim. "Oh God Trip, I want..."

"Not here." With more restraint than he had thought himself capable of, Tucker peeled himself off the smaller body, gulping for breath as he captured Reed's grasping hands. "Not in the hall."

Malcolm blinked, his adam's apple bobbing as he fought for breath. "Living room?" he rasped. His hand escaped to close around Trip's aching cock, and every reason for resisting flew out of the Southerner's head.

He was conscious of movement; of the heat and pressure of Malcolm's body guiding his; the nimbleness of the fingers working his most sensitive flesh as a wet, demanding mouth retook possession of his. He even recognised the tilt of the world on its axis when he was carefully lowered onto a fluffy fireside rug. Then two sets of pants and briefs were pushed away and there was only Malcolm, sensation and the dizzying rush toward bliss.

He rolled them until the smaller man was trapped beneath him, possessiveness twirling through the passion as he completely covered his partner. Rational thought abandoned they pressed and rubbed, each man's soft moans urging the other on until starbursts erupted behind Trip's eyelids, and to the sound of Malcolm's final, desperate cry he came hard, his seed surging with his husband's to bond them at the core.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sex and sightseeing - the perfect honeymoon combination!

"Ah think ah'm gonna like it here, Mal."

The sleepy, satisfied sound of Trip Tucker's voice after a monumental orgasm, Malcolm considered, had to be the single sexiest sound in the universe. "Mmm, that's nice to know," he mumbled, trying to burrow deeper into the warmth that surrounded him. "Remind me to shampoo the rug before we leave - Gran _does_ let the place for holidays. Wouldn't want anyone complaining about stained furnishings."

Only a Reed would think of that in the afterglow but Trip accepted his partner's little foibles without comment, merely dragging his eyes from the beauty in his arms to survey the large, pine-furnished lounge around them. 

He blinked. "Um, Malcolm? What's with all the knick-knacks?"

Malcolm considered the loaded mantelpiece and alcove shelves, and the picture frames adorning every spare centimetre of whitewashed wall. "That's Gran's idea of _character_. Oh, and Granddad's paintings. She wouldn't let him hang the seascapes - out of keeping with the house, apparently."

"He was good." A watercolour featuring the local church; a large one showing Pertisau from above, with the lake glistening and the mountains opposite rising sheer out of its depths; still another of the chalet itself... Grandpa Reed had been, Trip decided, quite the artist: yet another surprise in a family that just kept on confounding him. "Wanna show me around?"

"I'd rather lie here, actually." Treacly languor possessed his limbs and Malcolm had no desire to fight its pleasurable effects. Trip, on the other hand, was positively twitching with curiosity. "Oh, all right! As long as we can finish the tour in the bedroom."

"Malcolm Reed! And I used t' think you were so uptight and proper!"

"Yes love, but that was before you seduced me." With a winning smile the brunet held out a hand, letting himself be hauled upright. "Lounge, dining room through there, kitchen off to the left, study - which we won't be using unless you want to bend me over the desk - through the opposite door. You've seen the hall, so shall we go upstairs now?"

"Damn I love it when you're eager!"

"For you? I'm always eager." Shimmying into his jeans, Malcolm cocked his head and smiled at the older man. "You're determined to have the full estate-agent tour? Leave that monstrosity of a shirt off and I'll give it to you."

"Still windin' up in the bedroom?"

"Oh, of course." At the first pup of his husband's lips Reed abandoned any thought of retrieving his own shirt, sweeping an extravagant bow as the blond headed through sliding doors into the cosy dining area. "I've been wanting you in me since breakfast time, Captain Tucker, so don't waste too much energy poking into cupboards, understood?"

Trip's mouth worked like a hyperactive goldfish's, producing about as much sound. "Maybe the short tour's okay for now?" he stammered at last. Malcolm grinned.

"Whatever you say, my darling. Follow me."

*

Bright light prickled his eyes. With a harrumph of dismay Trip tried to roll onto his stomach, only to be stopped by the solid form of his bedmate. "Umph."

"Good morning, Lazybones." Malcolm stroked from shoulder to hip in one fluid motion, enunciating as crisply as if he were at his Enterprise station. Only the friendly poke of his standard morning hard-on against Trip's thigh indicated to the groggy blond that his partner's alertness might not be wholly genuine. 

He let himself roll over, the subtle friction of skin on hair-spattered skin pooling gratifyingly in his tender groin until their erections rubbed contentedly and the stormy eyes that met his darkened in response. "Mmmm, not in any rush to get up today, are you?"

"Ah'm on the way to bein' _up_ already. How about you?"

"Always - oh! - prepared." It never ceased to astonish Trip how trustingly the most suspicious of men would melt to his touch, sending an extra jolt of arousal to pierce his contracting balls every time. Malcolm's hips swivelled, sparks of white-hot sensation sizzling out through both men. The world contracted to the width of their bed until, swamped by delirium's rising tide, it blew apart altogether.

Trip kept his eyes tight shut, drifting down from his high on the sound of his husband's shallow breathing. The body beside him stretched, the old pine-framed king-size creaking as the movement lifted Malcolm's shoulders off the pillow. "What we gonna do today, Malcolm?" he hummed. 

"I was rather hoping for a day of hedonism and debauchery, myself," the altogether too dry British voice replied, the words fanning hot against his delicate ear. In spite of himself, Trip felt his sated body respond. 

"Yeah?"

"Yes," Reed replied smugly. "I don't want to get out of this bed except to feed, shit and - possibly - wipe myself down. Objections?"

"None." He cracked open one eye in time to catch the dazzled smile that lit the Englishman's sharply-angled face. "We're gonna get time to sleep between workouts, right?"

"I hardly think we'll have an alternative! Where are you going?"

"I need to pee." The bathroom was down the hall and on the right, he reminded himself, absently scratching his ass as he shuffled through the door. "Hey, Malcolm? Did I see a big double shower in here?"

"You did." The grin in his voice was equalled in the other man's, and it made Trip tingle in all the right places. He stopped, turned back, and poked his head around the bedroom door, eyebrows a-waggle.

"Wanna move some 'f that _hedonism an' debauchery_ to a different location?"

The bedclothes were on the floor in a nanosecond. And he had to chase his chortling spouse all the way to the bathroom. 

Much, much later, with Malcolm snoring softly in his loose hold, Trip tried to find a comfortable position for his aching backside and chuckled to himself. If he'd known the honeymoon would be this wild, he'd have asked his man to marry him years ago!

*

"Any suggestions for our first day out of bed, love?"

"Something that don't involve sittin' down."

"Agreed." Smiling at the man standing beside him as he ate breakfast off the high kitchen counter Malcolm clenched his buttocks reflexively, the small tug of overtaxed muscles radiating out from his sphincter eloquent testament to thirty-six frenetic hours. "We could take a picnic and go hiking? There are some easy trails through the woods, and the view once you get above the tree line is fantastic."

"Sounds good." If he'd suggested trekking barefoot over hot coals with that look on his face Trip would have acquiesced. "I'll go grab my camera."

"We should pick up some fresh bread before we go," Reed called after him as he darted into the lounge. "And some cakes."

"Look Mal I know you've got a secret sweet tooth, but it's breakfast time!"

"And by the time we reach a suitable stop for lunch it'll be early afternoon. Anyway, we've got to get cakes. Austria has the best in the world, and I intend to indulge _all_ my naughty passions this leave. Problem?"

"No, Sir." The blond saluted smartly. "Cakes. Okay, we gotta get cakes."

"Bread, cakes, cheese, ham, some fruit, water and a bottle of wine. Anything else?"

He had to admit it sounded good, and a few hours later he was loudly conceding in the face of unparalleled British smugness that Malcolm had been right. The rich slabs of chocolate and truffle cake his husband had selected from a gargantuan shop display were scandalously good and the sharp sweetness of strawberries and wine made the perfect accompaniment. They'd climbed through swathes of scented pinewoods until reaching a point clear of the trees to pause, stunned into silence by the panorama revealed. When Malcolm had produced a thick woollen blanket from his backpack and spread it on a broad granite shelf jutting from the cliff face Trip hadn't hesitated, sinking to his denim-covered knees and tucking in with the relish of a schoolboy. "I'm glad we came here, Mal," he murmured, taking the brunet's hand to lick away the last chocolate cream from Reed's little finger. Despite the sun's heat, Malcolm shivered.

"So am I," he whispered, eyes drifting shut as he leaned unconsciously for a kiss. Trip's arms encircled him and he relaxed, allowing his lingering tiredness to surface. "Love you."

"Love you too." No moment in his life had been more perfect, and suddenly it was more essential than taking a breath to Trip that he capture it. Moving stealthily, he drew his camera from the pocket of his jeans and, setting it for wide-angled shots, snapped.

Malcolm's head jerked up. "I hope that wasn't of me."

"That was the whole kit an' caboodle, but I want some pictures of you - okay, of _us_ up here." He spied a small crevasse in the rock face, just wide enough to hold the device steady and, gently easing his partner off his lap and onto the blanket, he wedged it into place, blindly setting the timer and a random number of frames. "C'mon, Commander, on your feet!"

"Pulling rank now, Captain?" It was impossible to be peeved in the face of the boisterous Tucker enthusiasm Malcolm knew: he'd tried. Obediently he allowed himself to be manipulated until he stood close to the edge of the broad ledge in the circle of Trip's arms. He felt the welcome weight of the man's chin descend onto his shoulder and smiled in time for the first frame to click through.

"Aw, that'll be a good one!" Pleased, Trip nuzzled the smaller man's neck, winning a startled exclamation just as the next shot was taken. Greatly daring he flicked out his tongue, sweeping the salt taste of perspiration from that delicious pale skin.

"Mmmm." Malcolm turned in the loose hold, his face already lifted, eyes half-closed as their mouths met again. The camera snapped unheeded through a dozen frames, capturing the loving brush of hand against bare forearm and the worshipful caress of starry eyes when the newlyweds drew apart. "You'd better not be planning to show those to Hoshi!"

"Why not?" Affronted, Trip scrolled through the images. "They're beautiful! And you know what Hoshi's like over us!"

"Which is precisely why I do _not_ intend to fuel her romantic imagination any further." The fine hairs on his arms prickled as Malcolm surveyed the succession of images; himself and Trip celebrating their love in some of the most spectacular scenery on the planet. "Take a few of the view - that'll pacify her, and the Admiral too, with any luck."

"Now Malcolm, what did Johnny say about titles now you're not under his command?"

"It's a hard habit to break, love, but I'll try. And stop changing the subject!"

"I think it's sweet they're so interested in us." Before his husband could object, Trip raised his hands in surrender. "Okay, I know, you're not comfortable knowing folks are watchin' your every move. But they're our friends and they care about us. Getting all misty-eyed and callin' us _adorable_ is just their way of showin' it."

He knew he'd hit the right note when Malcolm didn't hit him. "Yes, well, let's not give them any more fuel for that particular fire, shall we? You finished with the food?"

"Guess so." Leaving the Englishman to pack up on the grounds he probably wouldn't have folded their blanket right anyway, Trip snapped a few more shots of the landscape before tucking his camera away and offering a hand. "Start back down?"

"We can drop our backpacks at the house and head to the waterfront in time for _Kaffee und Kuchen_ \- afternoon coffee and cakes."

There was a challenging glint in the stormy eyes, but Trip merely shrugged. "Cool," he said. "You can't have too many good cakes in a day, right?"


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Malcolm's having a marvellous time. Now who could possibly spoil it for him?

The days rolled pleasantly as a routine began to develop: long lie-ins followed by quiet breakfasts; strolls through the forest or along the shore; boat trips around the lake to take lunch or the ubiquitous _Kaffee und Kuchen_ in another picture-book pretty hamlet having explored more unspoiled alpine scenery or taken a rickety old cable-car ride up to a forbidding granite peak. Trip relished the slower pace of life. What surprised him was the ease with which his hyperactive hamster of a husband adapted to it.

They celebrated their one-week anniversary with dinner and dancing at Pertisau's oldest and most expensive hotel overlooking the landing stage, but otherwise by silent agreement ate in, working as effectively (and occasionally as argumentatively) in the kitchen as they had crammed into Enterprise's maintenance shafts, passing equipment and disputing seasoning as if they had been married forever. With every silly disagreement about salt and pepper Malcolm felt the unacknowledged shadow at the back of his mind retreat further. Living together on Earth, without the imminent peril of alien attack that had kept life interesting in deep space, suddenly seemed much less terrifying.

He said nothing but, attuned to his lover's carefully-concealed mercurial streak, Tucker sensed the adjustment and, equally discreetly, rejoiced in it. Change was scarier to Malcolm Reed than a massed Romulan-Klingon fleet on his viewscreen, and if a few weeks holed up in hell had been what it took to accustom him to their new lifestyle Trip would have lied through his teeth and sworn he was loving every minute of it.

Instead, they had a romantic flower-decked chalet in a glorious location. Life was good.

Then Malcolm's squirrely side kicked in. "We ought to do some proper sightseeing."

"Darlin' the only sight I'm interested in this vacation is your ass in those spray-on jeans." Propping himself up on one elbow, Trip threw a sultry smile across the sunny garden. "Or out of them: I'm not fussy."

Hands on hips, Reed maintained his scowl despite the inevitable blush. "We. Are going. To Innsbruck. Tomorrow."

"'kay. That's what, forty, fifty kilometres?"

"Er - yes, about that." Flummoxed, Malcolm flopped onto the grass at his side, tea splashing from the two mugs he carried. "No wails about _goddamn museums_ , Captain Tucker? No hissy fits at the prospect of being dragged around a dozen old churches?"

"It's your vacation too babe, and if chokin' on dust in some highbrow museum makes you happy, we'll do it." Trip ruffled his husband's dark hair, inwardly smiling to see the man so completely off-balance. "You love the place. Course I wanna see it. Guess we'll be leaving early?"

"We'll need to be at Jenbach for nine-thirty." Having been ready for a squabble, Malcolm found himself feeling unsettled - even vaguely disappointed. "You're not going to make a habit of saying _"Yes, dear"_ to everything are you? I'd hate to think we were going to be as boring as..."

"We'll never be boring." The halt was too abrupt and the closedown of angular features into duty blandness too complete. _Boring as Captain and Mrs Reed_ , Trip concluded, carelessly draping an arm around their son's taut frame. "And I'll have you know, I'm not sayin' _yes dear_ at all. You've told me about Innsbruck, Mal. I want you to show it to me."

Maybe Hoshi - possibly Travis - would have identified the relief that softened the set of their friend's thin lips. "That's settled then."

The arm around him tightened perceptibly. "Yes," Trip agreed, easing them back until they were stretched full-length on the lawn. "I guess it is. Early night?"

"Of course." Which meant, Malcolm mused, he'd better catch up on his sleep during the day. If they were missing out on their usual pre-breakfast lovemaking tomorrow the demanding stallion who shared his bed would - he hoped - require some compensation later.

*

His feet ached and his head hurt when they reached the sanctuary of the chalet late the following evening, but Trip had to admit he'd never enjoyed a cultural tour as much - mainly because the hand he hadn't been using to illustrate his point, Malcolm had left glued to his companion's all day. "Those great big bronzes at the Hofkirche are really something," he declared, throwing himself onto the nearest overstuffed couch to the lounge door. "And the basilica at Wilten... wow!"

"Pity the old Olympic ski jump looks right down into the cemetery," Malcolm agreed drily as he stripped off his sweater and tossed it with unexpected abandon toward the worn pine balustrade. "The Old Town's as charming as I remember - I haven't been there in what, best part of twenty years. Do you want tea, coffee or a beer?"

"Beer sounds good." Ambling into the study he flipped on the monitor, his eyes coming out on stalks at the single message that flashed across the screen. "Hey, Malcolm! You got mail."

"Have I?"

The glass he carried in, cold with condensation, slipped against his hand, necessitating a lunge from Trip to avert disaster. "Oh, shit. It's from Mum."

The adored elder son of devoted parents, Charles Tucker the Third couldn't imagine what kind of childhood left a man visibly distressed to receive a letter from Mom. "Want some privacy?" he asked, deliberately neutral.

"No!" 

Malcolm, he noticed, was shocked by his own vehemence. "Pull up a chair then," he said, suiting action to word. The Englishman's straight nose wrinkled.

"I'll share yours, if you don't mind."

Sometimes, Tucker mused, he wasn't sure where innate courtesy ended and aching uncertainty began. "Anytime," he drawled, opening his arms. The familiar half-smile he got in return struck him, somehow, as painfully sad.

Silently Malcolm hit the necessary key, and Mary Reed's words began to scroll across the screen.

_My dear Malcolm,_

_I must admit the contents of your last letter came as a very great shock to your father and I. I can't imagine what might have led you to think I had any idea of your_ preferences _being anything beyond_ conventional _Malcolm! I don't believe I ever gave the subject a thought._

_We watched the ceremonies surrounding Enterprise's return, as you can imagine, with a great deal of interest, and were extremely proud of the discretion and decorum with which you received your promotion. Your husband - how strange that sounds! - looked ready to burst with pride!_

"You mind me askin' if that's a compliment or a criticism?" Trip murmured against his ear. Malcolm's shoulders lifted.

"From Mum, it could be either. If she's parroting Dad - one ought never descend to emotional display during ceremonial occasions. Not proper form."

When his naturally clipped, precise accent took on that particular hard edge Trip knew he was hearing the authentic voice of Captain Stuart Reed. "Guess I've never been a formal kind of guy," he said mildly. Malcolm snorted.

"Thank God," he grunted, returning his full attention to the screen.

_Your sister and grandmother are in somewhat_ bad odour _for concealing their prior knowledge of this fraternisation from your father, but neither seems to me terribly chastened, and Madeleine, you will be delighted to hear, speaks very highly of Captain Tucker. He's certainly a very handsome man, dear, and clearly very much in love with you, but of course it would be_ quite _impossible for us to attend the party his family are giving for you in America. We were really very shocked that Madeleine should choose to accept without having been formally introduced. I trust you will take proper care of her, Malcolm._

_You know of course that your happiness is my greatest concern, so, however severe the shock I can only rejoice that you have found a person whom you love unreservedly and who so clearly adores you in return. I hope that one day we will be able to meet, but you realise, I'm sure, how painfully this latest rejection of all he holds dear has affected your poor father. I am always, my very dear Malcolm, your loving mother,_

_Mary Reed._

Angry tears blurring his vision, Trip tightened his grip on his husband, letting the tremors run from the smaller body into his own as if he could absorb a share of the Englishman's pain. Concerned for her son's happiness? Mary Reed sounded completely hung up on her husband's petty obsessions! "Aw darlin' I'm sorry," he whispered into the silky dark hair, rubbing his nose through its warmth. Malcolm convulsed in a weak attempt at a casual shrug.

"It's no worse than I expected. Dad's livid and Mum's left dousing the troubled waters with oil. _One mustn't upset the Captain, dear. He's sensitive about these things._ "

"Ah'd like t' see how sensitive his ass'd be t' the sharp end of mah best hyperspanner," Trip growled, giving the tender skin at Malcolm's nape a swift lick. The shudder that ran through the slight form, he was certain, was as much lust as repressed dismay. 

"At least we don't have to worry about them turning up at your parents' and causing a scene," Malcolm answered, personalised hull plating coming audibly online. "It's all right, love - honestly. I've survived parental disapproval before."

"Yeah, but they're mad because of me, and I don't wanna come between..."

"If they can't accept my choice of career, they were hardly likely to be thrilled about our _fraternisation_ \- you noticed she used the old fart's word?" Disappointment nonetheless seeped like Phlox's most potent anaesthetic through him, and Malcolm pressed closer to the vital strength he needed to counter it. "Anyway, the day you said you loved me I realised it didn't matter any more what sacred tenets of Reed family tradition I was defying."

"Malcolm, I don't wanna come between you and your folks!"

Solemn grey eyes met his, long, graceful hands lifting to frame his troubled features, the fingertips feathering into his hair. "If your parents were upset, I'd be bothered too, but that's because you're close to them. You're not coming between us, Trip Tucker, because there's a gulf the size of the Kol'tari Rift already and not even your ego's big enough to fill _that_."

"You callin' me conceited, Commander?"

"How very observant of you, Captain."

That was the Mal he knew, mischief lightening his stormy eyes to silver shot through with the dark aqua hue of the Achensee itself. "Honestly, Trip, I'm not as upset as I expected to be," the Brit pledged, moving his thumb to brush the blond's frown-puckered lips. "I ought to be terribly hurt, I suppose, but they don't have that power over me any more. And have I ever told you how grateful I am to you for that?"

"What did I do?" Expressions of gratitude were welcome, but Trip figured he should know exactly what he'd done to earn them. Malcolm swooped for a brief, promising kiss.

"Loved me," he said succinctly. Trip's throat tightened.

"Always," he pledged reclaiming those sweetly malleable lips in affirmation. "Wanna skip dinner?"

"Sounds good." Anticipation sizzled down his spine. With a dismissive flick of the wrist Malcolm disconnected the computer, the mild sting of parental censure lost under pleasure's rising wave. "Bed?"

"Sounds even better darlin'." Trip was reassured, but never deceived by the initial calm, aware of scars running deeper than Reed would ever concede. "You were sayin' about me loving you..."

"I knew you'd take the hint. We still on for a couple of days in Vienna this week?"

"Do we hafta? I mean, didn't you want to stay away from the population centres?"

Head on one side, Malcolm Reed the expert strategist finally showed his hand. "I'll take you for a ride in a fiaker - a horse-drawn carriage that does tours of the city."

"Really?" As he'd anticipated, Trip folded instantly. "Well, I guess... we'd better do it before Monday, when the announcement goes out, right?"


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The boys hit the city.

"And we think the White House is something!" Trip marvelled, not thinking to moan about his aching feet as their tour of the mammoth imperial palace of the Habsburgs came to an end. "Sheesh! You'd fit three of 'em in here."

"With a couple of Buckingham Palaces alongside," Malcolm agreed, squinting in the sudden, bright light as they ambled into the busy Heldenplatz, his gaze resting on the line of carriages waiting placidly for custom. Gleaming black with warm claret leather seats, each was hitched to a pair of sturdy-looking horses, bay, grey and black teams swishing their tails and nodding at the passers-by. He indicated the foremost with a jerk of the head. "Shall we?"

"You're serious? Oh, man!" 

There were, Malcolm was aware, still those in the higher echelons of Starfleet Command who heard Charles Tucker the Third speak and dismissed their finest engineer as an unsophisticated hick. He could almost see them nodding and rolling their eyes at the childlike enthusiasm with which that simple soul clambered into the carriage, fidgeting with impatience while his spouse conducted a swift conversation in unhesitating German with the coachman.

"Ringstrasse? That's the central ring road with the fantastic architecture, right? The Opera House? You know, I'd love to see Tosca live in a place like that."

Malcolm could imagine a dozen senior jaws dropping. He'd resembled a stunned fish on encountering Trip's opera collection himself. "We'll do that someday," he promised, folding his hand around the other man's as their vehicle jolted into action, the metallic clang of hooves against the road ringing across the spacious square. "Want the blanket over your knees?"

"I'm good." Trip stretched his free arm over the back of the seat and sighed, wriggling his buttocks deeper into the cushions as he let his head tip back to enjoy the sun and the lofty elegance of Vienna's Imperial architecture. From his box at the front, their coachman chuckled.

"Just married?" he asked, flicking a grin over his shoulder in time with the waft of his lightweight whip above the horses' ears. Malcolm's brows shot up.

"What gave us away?" he asked mildly not, to Trip's relief, disconnecting their joined hands. The grizzled features beneath a broad hat-brim split with a toothy smile.

"You have that look: and fiaker rides are romantic for lovers, _ja_?"

"Very." The hand on his tightened, enabling Trip to meet the curious jade eyes with confidence. "Y' know Mal, I don't think he was jus' talkin' about _me_ givin' the game away."

"I'm sure he wasn't, love." He was grinning like a lovesick teen, but Malcolm couldn't find the strength to chastise himself. Satisfied they were unobserved he stretched up for a tender kiss, oblivious to the young girl on the pavement who turned to stare and the chuckle of their driver, guiding his vehicle expertly out onto the splendid Ringstrasse around which most of the city's most imposing and elegant buildings stood. The rhythmical clip-clap-clop of hooves faded to the back of his mind and the sway of the carriage lulled him until he would swear he was floating, sure to drift away without the security of Trip's arms around him.

Even when they drew back the cotton-wool sensation of being cosseted against the universe didn't leave. Reed gazed at the neo-Grecian columned façade of the parliament building, its portico adorned with a dramatic frieze, without really seeing it, his whole focus on the tiny movement of breath through his partner's body where they touched. Their driver called over his shoulder - pointing out the dramatic gilded helmet atop the statue of Athena that dominated the fountain standing at the entrance - and he nodded politely, savouring the rich thread of Trip's immediate question. The two of them could talk the whole tour away if it meant he could snuggle into the crook of his husband's shoulder and drink in those wonderfully languid tones.

"Happy?" Trip whispered, aware of the unaccustomed stillness of the body at his side. Malcolm blinked, treating him to a dreamy smile.

"Gloriously."

"You hear what Gottfried just said?"

_Gottfried? Oh._

Trust Trip Tucker to be on first-name terms with anyone inside ten minutes!

"There's a Strauss concert in the orangery at - Schonnbrunn?" 

"Close enough - for an American," the coachman announced. Trip sniffed. 

"Whatever. That big fancy yellow place you showed me pictures of. They're havin' a concert there tonight, and we can get tickets. What do you think?"

"I think that would be heavenly. In fact, if we go straight back to our hotel after this, we can change, get out to Schonnbrunn - how was that, Gottfried?"

"Tyrolean accent."

" _Danke schon_."

" _Ach, bitte schon_!"

"Malcolm, you've lost me."

"Never." Sealing the pledge with another quick kiss, Reed grinned at their amused guide. "If we get changed and head out to Schonnbrunn, we can have the afternoon exploring the palace before the concert."

"Dinner?"

"It's pricey, but they sell food."

"We're on honeymoon. Screw the expense."

"Aye, Sir." The salute was followed by a decidedly non-regulation kiss. "Straight back to the hotel then?"

"Where are you staying?"

"Just off Karlsplatz: the Hotel St Johann."

"I know it. I'll drop you there."

"That's off the route isn't it?â€ Malcolm enquired silkily, sending a succession of chills down his neighbour's spine. Gottfried shrugged.

"For newlyweds... an extra service at no extra cost. Agreed?"

"With thanks," Malcolm affirmed, his grin widened by the mumbled " _Danke schon_ " from his side. Settling back, he allowed his eyelids to drift down, re-learning a city he loved through Trip's enthusiastic eyes. A fiaker throwing a gratis extra - the world, he considered, truly was coming to an end.

As long as he had Trip Tucker beside him, Malcolm decided, he didn't really care.

*

Though the climb up the long flight of broad, shallow steps to the Gloriette at the crown of a hill looking down over the palace made both men huff and perspire in their formal slacks and jackets, the Habsburg summer palace in its canary-and-white splendour enchanted them. "And this was built just for the view?" Trip demanded, giving the massive Imperial eagle atop the extravagant arch a critical once-over. "Not that itâ€™s not worth lookin' at... Where's my camera?"

"Here." Malcolm produced the necessary item from his own pocket, wondering (not for the first time) how he ended up being spouse and bag-carrier in one fell swoop. "I'll get us a table; d' you want a hot meal, or will a snack do?"

"A sandwich an' a piece of cake'll be fine." Busy snapping the baroque magnificence of the main palace, Tucker spared his husband an airy wave. "See you in there."

"You'd better." With a shake of his head Reed left the older man to his work, grateful to get out of the sun and to remove his navy jacket for a while. Dressing up in readiness for the concert had seemed like a good idea in the cool of an air-conditioned hotel room; now he felt sticky, as if the grit from the paths was superglued to his skin. Trip's fascination with taking still photographs of everything new he saw, often an endearing habit, seemed suddenly intolerable.

Then the great blond fool came bounding to join him, eyes the same blue as the Viennese sky lit with enthusiasm, and Malcolm's bad temper melted like morning dew. "You got me cold milk and ham sandwiches? Malcolm, you're a lifesaver!"

"Thought you should choose your own cake." How could he ever resent that effervescent love of life when it so enhanced his mere existence? In apology for an unnoticed offence, Malcolm lifted his husband's left hand and brushed his mouth over the gold band shining there. Sipping his iced lemonade he slouched in his seat and indulged his favourite publically-acceptable pastime, unabashed Tucker-watching, until their meal was eaten and that oversized puppy demanded to be on the move again.

*

"My hands hurt."

"You shouldn't have clapped along so hard to the Radetzky March." His palms smarted too, not that Malcolm would admit it, from the climatic piece of a wonderful concert. "There's a reason they don't finish on a waltz, even here."

"Da-da-da-da-da - de-de - de - deee!" Trip trilled tunelessly, sweeping the astonished Englishman into his arms and whirling him along the street between equally startled concert-goers heading for the impressive Vienna Metro. "That's the _Blue Danube_ ," he added unnecessarily. 

"Put me down, you blithering idiot!" Protest only encouraged the man, and Malcolm congratulated himself on having read his spouse so perfectly. He was danced all the way to the station and by the time they made the sanctuary of their room both men were flopping, too hysterical with mirth to hold themselves upright unaided. 

Malcolm was sure he had never been happier in his life.

"And Ah'm gonna keep it that way, darlin'," Trip informed him the following morning over breakfast. "Whatcha got planned for today? Another seven sights in six hours?"

"I thought we'd wander over to the Prater and ride Harry Lime's big wheel; lunch at the Hotel Sacher for the original Sachertorte; shopping for some souvenirs and strolling through the park... then we catch the train back to Tyrol, and be snuggled up on the couch before Starfleet makes its confounded _announcement_ tomorrow."

"That's why you're the best damn tactical officer in Starfleet: planning ahead." Trip dipped his gold-rimmed coffee cup in salute, delighted by the uninhibited chortle that broke across the hotel's quiet breakfast room. We're gonna buy those Mozart chocolates for Hoshi, right?"

"Mozartkugeln," Malcolm confirmed. "Always assuming I don't eat them first!"

"No need." With the air of a conjurer, his husband produced a large box of the delicious balls of marzipan and smooth praline wrapped in bitter dark chocolate from his pack. "Bought 'em yesterday while you were in the bathroom."

"At Schonnbrunn?" A protest against the extortionate prices charged by tourist establishments rose in his throat, but resolutely Reed choked it back. "You're too good to me, Mister Tucker."

"Ain't nothing too good for you, Mal." It had been an impulsive purchase Trip fully expected to be told off for: the last thing he'd expected was the sheen of moisture that softened his husband's stormy eyes. "You finished? If we're going to get all that done and make our train, it's gonna be tight."

"As long as you don't _dawdle_ , we'll be fine. Grab the bags then! I'll see you at Reception in five minutes."


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Trip thinks Malcolm’s paranoid. Malcolm thinks Trip’s naïve. Now who could be right this time?

"Malcolm, will you for Chrissakes _relax_!"They'd spent a busy day out at Maurach at the head of the lake, riding the cable car up to the top of the mountain trails and hiking back down in time for dinner at a cosy inn on the shore. If his husband had been distracted by the knowledge of what was being published in San Francisco, he had managed not to show it.

Even now, Trip mused, there were moments Malcolm Reed could close up on him as if he were a stranger. "It's not like anybody's gonna notice a two-line announcement in the middle of all the promotions and transfers!"

"You honestly believe that?" Incredulity raised Reed's voice a full octave and he turned, hands on hips, to glare at his inexplicably gullible beloved. "Did you miss the crowd of yelling reporters outside Starfleet Headquarters when we touched down? Perhaps you thought those banks of cameras being waved in our faces were toys?"

"Ain't no call for sarcasm, Mal." Truculent, Trip turned from the news channel he'd flicked onto the screen, bottom lip thrust out at the irate Englishman. "And if they were announcing somethin' about Johnny I'd be agreein' with you. But - hell, we're just us! Nobody's gonna give a shit about two guys getting married. This is the twenty-second century, unless I'm getting _really_ confused in my old age."

"We're senior officers, and those vultures would caw about a pair of crewmen, second grade, if they could get Enterprise into the story."

"Anyone ever told ya, you're one paranoid cookie, Malcolm Reed?"

"Admiral Archer might have implied it once or twice - before admitting on getting out of Sickbay that I might actually have had a point after all."

According to Trip's all-too-vivid recollection it had usually been the Armoury Officer requiring quality time with Phlox's menagerie after his cautious advice had been ignored, but that was a place he did not want to go tonight. "Betcha there's nothing said about us."

"You're on. What's your forfeit when I win?"

"Cocky!" Still it brought the sly half-smirk back to those thin-cut, kissable lips and Tucker rejoiced to see it. "Umm... loser does all the cooking tomorrow."

The grin faded. "I've rather enjoyed sharing the chores," Reed muttered, ducking his glossy head. Trip's vulnerable heart melted again.

"Okay. How about... winner gets his choice of positions tonight?"

Something flared through his husband's expressive grey eyes, darkening them momentarily to molten platinum. "That's hardly a forfeit either of us is going to mind paying!"

Trip matched his head-tilt and countered the frown with a big smile. "We both kinda like being bottom," he pointed out, flushing at the sudden raspiness of his tone. Malcolm rolled his eyes.

"And neither of us is at all partial to riding on top, are we?"

"Okay, how about..." Brow furrowed with concentration he thrust a hand back to spike his blond hair, missing the small lip-twitch of approval from his husband. There were, in Malcolm's estimation, few things in the galaxy more appealing than a truly befuddled Trip Tucker. 

"If I win, I get t' tie you to the bed and have mah wicked way with y'."

His heart lurched so hard against his chest wall Malcolm needed a minute to recover his breath. "And when I win?" he squeaked.

" _If_ you win, you get t' do it to me." So neither man would be mortally offended by losing, Tucker congratulated himself, wondering absently how the air had suddenly been sucked out of the chalet. The quick movement of his spouse's throat suggested Mal was finding oxygen equally tough to extract.

"Deal."

With a wild waggle of the eyebrows, Trip patted the comfortable pile of cushions between him and the sofa's arm. "Sit down, relax, and watch me win the right to have you at my mercy tonight, Commander."

"Aye, Captain." Put-upon tone and mischievous smile; a contradiction that was so perfectly _Malcolm_ it took Trip's breath away. "Worldwide weather, then the headlines. Get ready to beg, darling."

Five minutes later the only thing Trip Tucker was preparing was a magnanimous victory speech. An earthquake in the Pacific; the speech of the Vulcan ambassador to the first Congress of the new alliance; the birth of a movie star's twins. Starfleet might not have existed, still less issued weekly communiqués. 

Malcolm, he was certain, sat stiffer than usual because if he wasn't very careful he'd be actually squirming.

Then it flashed up behind the newsreader. _Enterprise Wedding_.

And their pictures. In profile. On a background displaying the Golden Heart Nebula of all the corny things. "Aw, shit!"

"And finally, Starfleet Command has announced the marriage, on the day before NX-01 Enterprise was decommissioned, of two of her most celebrated officers," the businesslike announcer declaimed, her onyx eyes twinkling with a smile that took ten years from her face. "Commander Charles Tucker the Third and Lieutenant Commander Malcolm Reed, both promoted a full rank and appointed to Earthbound positions in San Francisco, were married by Captain Archer in the last few hours of their decade-long mission. Hannah Morgan has this report."

"Well that just takes the sodding cake! They've given us to their bloody _celebrity_ reporter!"

"Ssshhh!" Despite the vomit stinging his gullet, Trip found himself excruciatingly fascinated as the breathy tones of a vapid bottle-blonde (with, he remembered suddenly, a pneumatic bosom) filled the room. Chief Engineer and Armoury/Senior Tactical Officers respectively. She got their titles right - and their birthplaces at least.

"These pictures of the happy couple among the senior staff, we now know, were filmed less than twenty-four hours after their wedding," the voice sighed over shots of the two of them side-by-side, Malcolm half-turned toward Trip with a quizzical expression quirking his sharp features, at Johnny's conference-opening address. "Shortly before the newly-appointed Admiral Archer performed a second major ceremony, promoting the newlyweds along with the friends and colleagues we're told all attended their wedding in the mess hall on Enterprise's last day in service."

"She doesn't half labour her points," Malcolm grunted, willing himself to focus on anything but the mortification swelling out from his belly. On screen he saw Trip smiling as Admiral Archer replaced the half-pip on his chest with the closed insignia of a full Commander's rank, the raw pride in the man's handsome face enough to make him feel light-headed. Trip clasped his hand. "Ow!"

"Sorry." His fingers had frozen, the Southerner realised. He couldn't loosen his deathly grip any more than he could drag his shuttered stare away from the archive footage of Enterprise's senior staff flicking across the screen.

"Our sources confirm that the romance which blossomed in deep space between the man regarded as the greatest engineer since Henry Archer..."

"Now ain't that something!" Trip marvelled.

"And the most dangerous man in Starfleet..."

Malcolm groaned, burying his head in his hands.

"Had been well known to Starfleet Command for several years." 

"Yeah, well known and frowned on," Trip growled, absently fanning his flaming face as the report ended and the serene anchor blandly turned to the petite, toothy reporter sitting opposite her in the colourful studio. 

"Hannah, have Starfleet released any further information about the wedding ceremony or the couple's immediate plans?"

"Nothing official has been added to the statement in the weekly gazette, Suzanne, but we _have_ been told that a shuttlepod seen heading east from the compound shortly after the decommissioning ceremony may have been carrying the newlyweds to their honeymoon." Hands folded on the broad desk, Hannah Morgan looked past her colleague and right into camera, puckering her ruby lips into a knowing pout. "Our sources say the exact destination is a private matter that hasn't been revealed to Command." 

"For the very good reason that if they knew, you daft simpering bint, you'd be telling the whole quadrant by now," Malcolm announced sarcastically as the woman explained, quite needlessly in his judgment, that their plans were not deemed an official matter and that Starfleet expected no contact from its officers until they reported for duty to their new departments in two weeks' time. 

"Captain Tucker is expected to take a leading role in the Warp Seven project; Commander Reed is understood to have been given a roving brief across the munitions division's activities."

"Gee, don't she make us sound important!"

"Only because she thinks it makes her sound it too." Now it was done, Malcolm found himself feeling surprisingly calm about the whole unpleasant business; as if pride in being identified as Trip Tucker's partner of choice outweighed the hateful interference of outside scrutiny. "Hmm, so Starfleet Command wishes us _every possible happiness_ , does it? Nice to know my bosses can be gracious even if my parents can't."

"They're just shocked. They'll get over it."

"It's obvious you've never met them." He hadn't meant to sound bitter, Malcolm realised. In fact, he'd almost convinced himself since receiving Mum's letter that he didn't even feel it

Obviously he had been deluding himself. Again.

"Don't never hafta." The double negative and the thickened accent; two sure signs Trip was upset, and he was to blame. "I got the only Reed that matters, and Maddie likes me."

"Maddie adores you."

"As much as you do?"

"Never."

The blithering females on screen were forgotten. Gazes locked, the two men moved their arms around each other and leaned in until their lips could brush, two sets of long lashes drooping as the initial contact deepened, the tip of Trip's tongue touching Malcolm's in a way that sent shivers to the smaller man's toes and he sighed, melting into his husband's strong arms. He barely noticed as he was lifted tenderly into the other man's lap, engrossed in the dual delights of tongue in mouth and hand in hair. 

And when the insidious bleeping of the chalet's comm. unit, transferred to the viewscreen from the computer in the study, began to penetrate his happy daze his instinct was to ignore it. Trip's mouth was malleable under his, the big, suntanned hands roaming in random, soothing patterns over his back, scrunching the thin fabric of his shirt until it pulled free of his jeans and the hard calluses at the base of those skilled fingers could scrape his spine. He didn't want to be sociable. He just wanted Trip to keep touching him.

But the blasted noise got into his head, reverberating off the inside of his skull, and every ounce of his considerable willpower wasn't enough to withstand the effects of a lifetime's relentless training. "Shall we answer that?"

"Don't wanna." The Southerner's eyes had darkened, midnight blue rings around the liquid onyx of his dilated pupils, and the chest against which Malcolm leaned was heaving. The pad of his thumb pressed against the small of the Englishman's back, common sense reasserting itself as he studied the determined set of the flushed features "But you're going to all the same, yeah?"

"There are only two people who have the frequency, and it'd be rude to ignore either of them." Still, Malcolm hesitated to adjust the crotch of his jeans and carefully cross his legs. "Okay?"

"You've still gotta claim your prize tonight, Mister Reed." Tugging a cushion across his lap, Trip winked extravagantly. Malcolm licked his lips.

"Oh, I intend to, love. Am I decent?"

Without waiting for an answer he tapped a button in the couch's polished armrest and the viewer momentarily blacked out.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Reeds are a funny family. Trip's going to need advice, and somebody's only too willing to offer it.

"Hello, Milky."

"Gran!"

The small, steel-haired woman on the screen, makeup and skirt suit immaculate, smiled as she leaned forward from her leather wing-chair to plant a quite unexpected peck against her monitor's unyielding surface. "I wasn't sure you'd still be up and about at this time, darling," she said, folding her dainty white hands into the pleats of her grey skirt. Malcolm rolled his eyes.

"It's only just turned eight o'clock, you know."

"Yes dear, but you're on _honeymoon_." Long eyelashes swept down to briefly veil eyes of the most startling violet Trip had ever seen before lifting to reveal a mischievous glint he'd seen many times in orbs of stormy grey. "One doesn't like to _intrude_ , but Frau Becker wanted me to pass on a reassurance - given the rather _public_ announcement on every news channel - that your whereabouts will remain a strict secret."

"I never doubted it." His erection sufficiently deflated Malcolm uncrossed his legs and bent forward to beam at the deceptively fragile little figure sitting bolt upright, swamped by her old-fashioned chair. "It was one of the reasons I suggested we come here in the first place - knowing the locals wouldn't invite half the quadrant's news crews onto their doorsteps. By the way - Gran, this is my husband, Charles Tucker the Third. Trip - my Gran, Catherine McGovern Reed."

"A pleasure, Captain Tucker."

"Likewise, Ma'am." Something about the old lady's aura made it natural for him to stand and bob an awkward little half-bow. That won him a small smile and the dip of the perfectly-coiffured head.

"I'm afraid I've absorbed a few Reed habits over the decades dear; dreadfully formal introductions being one of them," she explained, amusement enhancing the faint trace of a Scots lilt in her words. He couldn't be certain, but Trip thought her posture softened slightly too. "But please - _Ma'am_ is much too Reed-like from a grandson-in-law, and Maddie assures me you'll bring a healthy dose of _impropriety_ to Malcolm's life. Would it tread awfully on anyone's corns if you were to call me Gran?"

He'd thought only Malcolm could make him blush hotter than the heart of the average sun; obviously it was a family talent. "Well, my Granny Johnson and Grandma Tucker are both long gone, and likely wouldn't have gotten upset to begin with, so... I'd like that, Gran, but my family call me Trip."

"Trip, then." She reminded him a lot of Granny Johnson with her kindly smile that deepened the soft gullies around her bright eyes and lively little mouth. "I must say Madeleine's effusive praise didn't do you justice - you're even more handsome than I expected."

"Aw, now you're really making me blush!"

"And that accent... really darling, how _are_ you keeping your hands to yourself?"

"Gran!" Now Malcolm was blushing just as much, but Trip found that plain adorable, tracking the climb of hot colour up the graceful curve of the neck, along the strong jaw and up to the summit of those glorious cheekbones. Catherine Reed chuckled.

"Don't be such a good little soldier Milky darling, you're supposed to be all over each other on honeymoon. They're so _military_ , Reed men, Trip - you'll have realised, of course, they need very _particular_ handling. My father used to say, you know, they're so stiff they probably even come at _Attention_ \- we know that's not true, of course."

" _Gran!_ " Malcolm expostulated, his outrage lost beneath Trip's hoot of startled laughter. "Honestly, I don't know how Granddad put up with you!"

"I kept him from disappearing up his own back passage darling, as generations of devoted Reed spouses had done before me." Dismissing her grandson's protest with an airy wave Catherine Reed leaned forward, mirth deepening her astonishing eyes to the darkest iris shade Trip had ever seen. "Malcolm received the full force of the family training, Trip, but don't let that distress you. Reed men can be taught to quite enjoy impropriety over time."

"We're well on the way, thanks." Recalling stolen kisses in the turbolift - even a frantic fumble to climax in a maintenance shaft - Trip figured he had his particular Reed thoroughly accustomed to _conduct unbecoming_. He treated the elderly woman to his most charming grin, receiving a dimpling flush in return. "Tuckers don't have many rules, and the ones we do, we're conditioned t' try and break," he clarified.

His newly-adopted Granny-in-law clapped her manicured hands. "Excellent! Your grandfather would have been thrilled."

Malcolm's dark brows disappeared into the wayward tumble of hair hanging forward from their most recent bout of indecorous behaviour. "What, that the bisexual aquaphobic has married _a chap_? I can't imagine..."

"That you've had the courage to live by your own rules, not those laid down by previous generations." When quiet sorrow shadowed her expressive features Trip found himself aching to stretch through the screen to give the old lady a hug: unlike certain other Reeds, he suspected this one would instinctively appreciate the impulse. "He always rather blamed himself for poor Jackie's untimely end - encouraging him to follow the _Reed way_ when it ran against everything he ever was himself. Oh, did you never realise Great-Uncle Jack was bi? You were only a tot when he died, so I shouldn't be surprised..."

"That's the uncle who went down with the Clement? Mal, I never realised you actually knew him!"

"Oh, Malcolm's told you about Jackie." Gran was ridiculously pleased, and so open were her delicate features that Trip, on a few minutes' acquaintance, knew it. "He was fifteen years younger than my husband - his parents' reunion baby, although of course, being Reeds, they didn't even admit to having had a trial separation while Duncan was at boarding school until _years_ later. I'm fairly sure his aquaphobia developed like yours, darling - a bad fright as a toddler. Your father's terror of cats, you know, originated in Nanna McGovern's old girl Smokey leaping out of the chestnut tree at the bottom of the garden onto his head when he was three. I'm sure Jackie's fear of drowning could be traced back to landing face-down in the paddling pool or something. All these things have their basis in a fright in infancy, I believe."

"Malcolm ever told you, Gran, you'd get along real well with our Doctor Phlox?"

"He wouldn't get a word in edgeways." Purse-lipped, Malcolm gave him a sharp nudge with the knee. "I never realised Uncle Jackie was bi, though - he and Aunt Marilyn..."

"They were happy enough, but Jackie confessed to your granddad on the wedding day he would have preferred to marry his former boyfriend - a naval officer called Smith, I remember. Nice chap. Anyway, he felt obliged to do the _proper_ thing and marry the daughter of a senior lieutenant, in the same way as he had to brandish his _courage_ in overcoming his phobia by joining the submarine service. He wasn't a happy man, and Duncan - my husband, Trip - always reproached himself for not encouraging him to carve his own path. He was secretly rather pleased when you joined Starfleet, Malcolm."

" _Seven seas not big enough for the lad_ were his words, if I remember correctly," Reed muttered, hanging his head. Trip draped a consoling arm over his hunched shoulders.

He was still faintly surprised when Malcolm didn't pull away.

"I'm sure you do dear, but Duncan was a gruff old salt, and he had his doubts about all this space-exploration business. One can't trust these alien johnnies - they're not like us. Your distant ancestors during the days of sail probably regarded foreigners in the same way."

"Malcolm's not the most trusting when it comes to a new species' motives himself," Trip announced. His husband glared. "And more often than not, he's right."

Mollified, Malcolm let the scowl fade. "Granddad would be pleased to hear it," Catherine Reed approved. "Cynicism is another family characteristic, Trip - it's rather sweet, when one gets used to it."

"Mal don't like being called sweet, but I do it anyway."

"I _am_ still here, you know," Malcolm pointed out plaintively. Trip hugged him, the gesture giving him the confidence to raise an especially sore point. "I understand you're in bad odour with the Captain again, for keeping him in the dark about us."

"Oh, I'm usually in trouble with Stuart for something." Her straight shoulders arched through the rounded shrug of a truculent teen. "My son can be a pompous ninny, Trip - as his mother I can say that, even if I'd set about anyone else who did with my handbag - but you really mustn't let him upset you. Perhaps I ought to have taken him to church more as a small child - taught him the Ten Commandments instead of letting my father-in-law recite the family version before bedtime every night! If he could recover from the horror of a son turning his back on the sainted service, he can certainly overcome this little surprise! I spoke to your mother this morning, by the way."

"Is she well?" It was as polite - and about as distant - as a routine courtesy to the Vulcan ambassador. There were times, Trip acknowledged, when his passionate, big-hearted husband could close down into a human-shaped automaton. The fact Mal could do it while discussing his closest relations scared him.

Gran, he noticed, ignored the chilly tone. "Better for having had such wonderful news about her boy," she replied calmly. 

The arm around his shoulders tightened perceptibly as Malcolm shook his head. "That I doubt!"

"Now, Malcolm. Mary's a sweet woman, but too much in awe of your father's self-important ways to be healthy. She does have her own opinions, but she's learned never to express them; much too placid and as we know, Trip, Reed men need..."

"Particular handling," the two men chorused. Catherine Reed nodded. 

"Good boys. Your mother asked that I send her love and best wishes. She's looking forward to meeting Trip when the storm's abated. She commed Madeleine immediately your letter arrived and demanded all the details: apparently they had a terrific gossip until Stuart reappeared like a great black cloud. Your family is happy I hear, Trip?"

"Mom thinks Mal's the best thing that's ever happened to me - and I was raised never to argue with my momma."

"Well brought-up as well as handsome. Quite a catch, aren't you, Mister Tucker?"

"He certainly is." Seeing a second relation fall under Trip's spell was a pleasure, but Malcolm's recalcitrant mind kept anticipating others that didn't include anyone else, however well-meaning. Thoughtlessly he caught the hand lying in Trip's lap and brushed his lips over the knuckles, savouring his man's responsive shiver. He'd never had a lover anything like this sensitive to the smallest touch before.

As if she read his mind (and he wouldn't have put it past her) Catherine Reed sighed, stretching her back and frowning at the audible creak of aged bone. "Well, it's been a pleasure, but I really ought to leave you two lovebirds alone," she said, her tone the silky-smooth one edged with menace Trip had heard her grandson deploy right before he shot someone. "I assume you _will_ be having your own children, by the way? I hear these biolabs are wonderful, and you'd make me such beautiful great-grandchildren, both of you being so handsome... Now run along and _get practising_ , as my granny used to say!"

Before either man could stutter any kind of answer she cut the channel, leaving them to goggle at a blacked-out monitor.

"Sorry," Malcolm exhaled at length. "She's a bit of a shocker sometimes."

"She's cool." The mystery of the Reed family had only been deepened, Trip considered, between Granddad's artistic streak and Gran's defiance of family convention, but he'd gotten himself another ally and seen his husband knocked off-balance to boot. "And even if it's not gonna make any babies, what she said about _practising_ sounded kinda nice."

"You have a forfeit to pay, Mistah Tuckah." Like a large sable cat with a mouse by the tail Malcolm eased himself upright and guided his husband in his wake. "Does that count?"

"Ah'm at your mercy, Mister Reed." Every fine hair on his body prickling at the prospect, Trip allowed himself to be hauled up the stairs to the main bedroom, no longer puzzled that he somehow managed to lose every item of clothing en route. Sometimes being married to the most devious tactician in Starfleet just meant accepting these things.


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A little bit of fun for the boys - what better way for Malcolm to come to terms with some unwelcome publicity?

"Jesus Malcolm I can't... oh baby please, I need..." Every muscle in bicep and thigh bulging Trip pushed himself up against his bonds, perspiration making them slip with each frantic movement. As he leaned over to lick a droplet from his husband's glistening brow, Malcolm emitted a strangled chuckle.

" _I_ decide what you need tonight, Captain," he grated, conscious the tactic of squeezing himself at the base to stall an onrushing climax wouldn't serve him much longer. He'd been tormenting his captive for an eternity, kissing and licking and nipping every delicious inch of that splayed-out body secured at ankles and wrists to the four corners of their pine-framed bed. With lips, tongue and fingers he had brought the man to the very edge of the abyss only to pull back, soothing him with soft touches and loving words until he was ready to start the climb all over again. It was the loveliest game he'd ever played but Malcolm had to admit, it was coming to an end.

His penis might have been formed of the same granite as the Alps towering over them, fuelled within by a molten heat that cramped his painfully tender balls. Just dousing it with a third coat of lubrication made him tremble, and every ragged whimper his captive made seemed to seep right through from ear to core. He pulled back, gazing at the beautiful blond for another moment as if he could burn the image into his brain, then forced his shaking legs to carry him over the bed frame to slip between the spread-eagled thighs. Convulsively Trip tried to grip him, wailing with frustration when his silken bonds refused to give. Their erections brushed: Malcolm's moan overlaid the taller man's. 

"Darlin'... mmmmm... Mal... wanna... uuuhhhh I need... hold y'!" His head threshing, Trip could no longer see the intent expression on his husband's angular features. His golden hair spiked and chaotic, he bucked beneath the smaller man's restraining weight, heedless of everything but the desperate need to hold and be held, to reach the release tantalising him, always just beyond his grasp. Something flickered inside him, a long finger probing, then a second, and his fragmentary grasp of the English language deserted him in a long, near-anguished moan.

"Ssshh love, I've got you, it's all right." Any more of this and Malcolm knew he'd waste his load on the fresh mountain air. He'd played with his man's sphincter enough to have his way prepared and grinding his teeth he plunged hard and deep, shocks running up from his balls as they slapped against his lover's receptive body. Trip's passage contracted hard, his whole length jerking upward, electrified by the first strike against his prostate. 

"Oh, yes!" Buried within that perfect body he needed only to be closer, to feel Trip touching every fibre of his being. At the deepest point of his stroke Malcolm stretched to yank the cords that held his husband's arms, the liberated limbs flopping instantaneously to clench around his shoulders. Restraint forgotten he pounded hard and fast, crushing his mouth against the wide-open one emitting successive, increasing shrieks with every hit to Trip's hot spot. 

Blinded by the sweat that stung his eyes, he snatched between their bellies and pulled, the final duty to send his partner screaming over the edge and himself tumbling, helplessly drawn into the vortex in his wake.

The world greyed out. He snuggled into the warmth that enveloped him, oblivious to everything but the hammering of his racing heart. Something tickled his spine. "Darlin'?"

"Hmmmm." Trip, he thought woozily. _Lovely Trip._

"C'nn Ah tie you up sometime?"

What was left of Malcolm Reed's skeleton melted on the spot. "Anytime, love."

"T'morrow. Mah legs..."

Though it felt like he was swimming through syrup Malcolm managed to invert himself and tug free the bathrobe belts that had kept his husband's legs so beautifully spread, bestowing absent kisses on ankle bones, calves and knees as he made his way back up. "Better?" he rasped, faintly puzzled by the scratch at the back of his throat. _Must've screamed, I suppose. Wouldn't be the first time_. "Trip?"

He glanced up, one hand against his ear to counter his head's tendency to keep spinning and unbidden a sweet, soft smile broke across his kiss-bruised lips. Mouth hanging open, a look of blissful fulfilment on his handsome face, Trip Tucker was sound asleep.

"Sweet dreams, my darling," he murmured, carefully drawing the downy comforter up until it was tucked around them as he sprawled across his husband's solid length. His heavy eyes closing of their own volition he surrendered to exhaustion completely content. The news was out. Everyone knew he was married to the most astonishing man in Starfleet. 

And as long as he had Trip Tucker's ring on his finger, Malcolm Reed knew he could face down anything.


End file.
